


That Which is Thine

by RedHorse



Series: Tomarry/Harrymort prompt fills [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Golden Trio Friendship - Freeform, Humor, M/M, No underage, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: The problem with blurting out Latin with a wand in your hand is that there can be unforeseen consequences. Like accidentally marrying your enemy.





	That Which is Thine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurofu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/gifts).

> For Mik, who wanted a secret marriage fic!
> 
> Thanks so much to mayexist for the beta. <3

“You’re  _ married _ ?” Hermione said, so shrilly that Harry had to fight the urge to clap his hands over his ears. “Since  _ when _ ?”

“Er,” Harry said. “It’s a long story.”   


  
Ron, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, stared at them from across the room. Harry was glad he’d suggested everyone sit down, since it was obvious Ron’s legs wouldn’t be able to support him in the face of such a shock.

“Well, then,  _ start telling it _ !” Hermione snarled. The tent flapped as though there was a stiff breeze on its other side, but of course, as it existed in some sort of wizarding space, the disturbance in the air was caused by Hermione’s agitated magic. Or, Harry thought, seeing Ron’s hair standing literally on end, possibly Ron’s. Either way, he recognized he needed to do something to calm everyone down.

“When I said it was a long story,” he began nervously, “I meant it starts, um, a long time ago.”   
  


Hermione’s voice got higher, somehow. Harry winced and bit his lip. “ _ How long ago? How could you keep this from us? _ ”

Though he really, really didn’t want to tell them, it was worth it to get Hermione to stop shouting, so he cleared his throat, held up his hands, and launched into it.

“Okay, okay! It all started in fourth year.”   
  


“ _ Fourth year _ — ?” Hermione began, and Harry waved his hands to forestall her.

“I can’t tell you if you keep yelling at me!”   


  
Hermione looked indignant, but nodded reluctantly. Then she crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look to go on.

Harry looked from her to Ron, which wasn’t much better. Ron’s hair had now formed tight curls and the energy — definitely emanating from Ron, Harry realized now — had the tent billowing outwards like a sail under a stiff and constant wind.

“It started in fourth year,” Harry continued, as calmly as he could. “In the graveyard.”

*

Cedric was dead. Harry was frightened. Then Voldemort came out of the cauldron, a bony-white specter, and Harry was terrified.

When their wands locked, Harry’s foremost thought, to his shame, was “ _ Don’t hurt me _ ,” but it came out in a very inconvenient bit of half-recalled Latin.

*

Hermione stared at him. “You mean you  _ accidentally married yourself _ to  _ Voldemort _ while he was  _ trying to kill you _ .”

Ron finally roused from his stupor enough to say with feeble humor, “Not a very romantic wedding.”

“How did you even know the spell?” Hermione demanded.

“Well,” Harry said. “Coincidence. You see, earlier that year — right after the tournament was announced, Fred and George were researching how to get past the age line...”

*

“It’s a test of adulthood, the old magical blood rites — “

“ — so, it’s about the age, not the year in school — “

“Yes, seventeen. But age isn’t the only way blood tells of age — “

“No, it could be — “

Then the twins said in unison, “marriage.”

For a long moment they were silent, then they burst out in laughter.

“Not worth it, even considering the prize,” Fred declared.

“Definitely not,” George agreed.

“Hey, Weasleys, this Potion you sold me is a total hoax!” complained a third voice, belonging to Lavender Brown. “My hair’s nowhere near as light as Fleur Delacour’s. Fix it or give me my knuts back!”

Fred grumbled and George said, brightly, “Let us take a look!”

They left their book on the common room table. Harry hadn’t meant to conceal himself from them, but they hadn’t noticed him studying in the window-seat, and once they’d begun their planning it had felt awkward to announce himself.

He looked curiously down at the book. Fred and George tended to give the impression of having concocted their every invention from scratch, but Harry had long suspected they had a route into the restricted section. The book certainly looked forbidden, its cover spiny dragonhide, its pages giving off the faint blue aura of old enchantments.

_ The Rites of Adulthood: Blood, Marriage, Consequence _

The paragraph beneath the  _ Marriage _ heading seemed to float off the page and suspend itself before Harry’s mind. He’d only been glancing down a moment when he heard Fred and George coming back from the girls’ dormitory (how had they managed to get in there?) and he hastily stepped back. But somehow that was more than enough time for the lines of Latin from the incantation to inscribe themselves in his mind.

And though Harry was far from proficient in the language, he somehow knew exactly what they meant.  _ Thou may not harm that which is thine. _

*

“And then you began lying to us,” Hermione said, her bitter hurt quite obvious. The tent had stopped flapping, but Ron looked equally wounded, and his hair was now plastered, limp, to his head.

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry insisted. “You see…”

*

When the spell took, the energy between Harry and Voldemort erupted and threw them apart, while at the same time, Harry felt something close around his heart like a net on a tether, and knew without a second thought it bound him to Voldemort.

Voldemort had recovered more quickly than Harry and was looming over Harry where he lay braced against a random gravestone, dazed and blinking from the impact. Voldemort pointed his wand, malevolent delight in his red eyes, and parted his lipless mouth to incant, but before a word could be uttered he staggered backward with a hiss.

“What is this?” he demanded, trying without success to point his wand again.

“My Lord?” asked Lucius Malfoy uneasily. “Do you require assistance?”   
  


Voldemort was staring at Harry with a penetrating intensity, and Harry realized too late that Voldemort was somehow deep inside Harry’s mind, panning through Harry’s thoughts and memories and essence like they were pages of a book which Voldemort didn’t find particularly interesting. Then his reptilian eyes widened and his slitted nostrils flared the slightest bit. He was horrible looking, repulsive, and Harry realized too late that Voldemort was seeing this, Harry’s reaction to Voldemort’s visage, just as clearly as everything else.

And it hurt his feelings.

“You will not harm him,” Voldemort told Lucius in a steady voice, tinged with resignation. “He is my husband.”

Harry had realized this already, but hearing it was another matter. He scowled. Voldemort sniffed and turned away in a swirl of robes. 

Though Lucius’ face was completely covered by his mask, Harry could imagine that he, and all the arranged Death Eaters, wore expressions of total shock. When Voldemort raised his wand again, though, he cast effortlessly against targets which were not Harry, and Obliviated the dozen of them simultaneously. When they Disapparated per Voldemort’s instructions in the last moments of their post-Obliviated hypnosis, Voldemort turned back to Harry.

“You will speak of this to no one, or I will kill a family of Muggles for each of your transgressions.”   
  


Harry just stared, disbelief making him dizzy. Then Voldemort reached out a hand and  _ Accio’d _ the Goblet, which he tossed to Harry. Harry caught it without thinking, and it jerked him away.

*

“I almost said something, dozens of times,” Harry said weakly. “But I didn’t think you’d trust me if you knew.”   
  


“Of course we don’t trust you, now!” Hermione sputtered, and when Harry flinched, she sighed. “Not because anyone could doubt that you’re good at heart, Harry, but because a blood rite marriage won’t permit transgressions! You couldn’t go against Voldemort now, even if you wanted to.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Harry said nervously. “I don’t want to.”   
  


“What the  _ actual _ fuck, Harry — ”

Hearing Hermione swear was so surreal, Harry blinked. “Before you hex me,” Harry interrupted, half-shouting, “hear me out!”

Hermione, flushed and scandalized, pressed her lips together and looked expectant. Ron had shifted so he could drape himself over the chair arm as though he’d lost all bodily strength. But Harry loved them for giving him a chance to explain, insufficient an explanation though it might be.

“It goes both ways,” he began tersely. “He can’t go against  _ me _ , either. We figured it out in fifth year.”

*

“Husband,” Voldemort said coolly. Harry could only see him as an outline, hidden in the shadows at the edge of whatever forest was on the other end of the Portkey Voldemort had sent by owl.

“Er, right. Hi.” Harry hugged himself. It was a cool night, and he had left the dormitories so hastily, he hadn’t thought he might need a cloak when he got wherever he was going.

“Tell me,” Voldemort continued, “exactly what your philosophical objections are to a simple, brief  _ Crucio _ ?”   
  


Harry blinked. “Well, it’s an Unforgiveable for a reason, isn’t it?”   
  


“A country’s laws are arbitrary,” Voldemort snapped. “And it is my  _ signature Curse _ . People are beginning to wonder why I  _ haven’t cast it in years _ .”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me,” Harry said, second-guessing the wisdom of taking a Portkey from his enemy to an unknown location, alone, whether that enemy was his husband or not.

Voldemort exhaled impatiently. “You mean to tell me,” he said in a low, furious whisper, “that you haven’t realized yet that we cannot contravene one another’s wishes? Have you  _ not reread the book where you found the spell _ ?”   
  


“It’s hard to find,” Harry said defensively. A cold wind coiled through the trees and made his skin pebble with cold. Of course Voldemort had to find the most inhabitable meeting place possible, he thought sourly.

Voldemort swore in Parseltongue and emerged fully from the shadows, shrugging out of his cloak. Harry stared in abject shock. While Voldemort retained the height and basic, slender proportions of the body in which Harry had last seen him, on the day of their marriage in the graveyard, he was now entirely human. And handsome. A grown-up, leaner version of the shade in the diary.

Voldemort obviously noticed that Harry was staring, but he didn’t comment as he arranged the cloak, deliciously warm from his body, over Harry’s shoulders.

“What did you do to yourself?” Harry blurted.

Voldemort — Harry couldn’t be  _ sure _ , given the light, but he was  _ almost sure _ — blushed faintly.

“You didn’t like the other look.”

*

“Wait,” Ron interrupted. “He made himself handsome, just for you? Aw.”   
  


“Ronald!” Hermione snapped. “That is not the most important fact from that part of the story.”

Ron put his head back down on the arm of the chair. “I guess not, speaking objectively.”

Hermione looked back at Harry impatiently. “So he can’t use his favorite Curse. But that hasn’t stopped him from trying to take over the world! Am I supposed to believe, then, that you support  _ that _ ?”   
  
Ron looked grave. “That’s a good point, Harry. And, at best we’re on a wild goose chase, aren’t we? Living in this tent, looking for pieces of his soul that you couldn’t possibly harm even if you wanted to...it doesn’t look good, mate.”

Harry sighed. “I know. But I can explain that too.” He grimaced, because there wasn’t a whole lot  _ to _ explain. The wild goose chase was just meant to keep them all busy, safe, and out of the way. “It took a lot of meetings, but by sixth year, we reached an agreement.”

*

“No,” Voldemort said, sitting back from the table with a stubborn tilt to his chin. “Absolutely not. That’s where I draw the line.”

“But she’s a  _ murderer _ ,” Harry said sharply. 

“So am I,” Voldemort pointed out.

“You’re reformed, and she’s unapologetic. Bellatrix Lestrange goes back to Azkaban, or the deal’s off.”

“She’s my favorite. I couldn’t possibly.”

“You can visit her if you like.”   
  


“No.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Could she swear an Unbreakable Oath, not to hurt anyone?”   
  


“She’ll do anything I ask of her,” Voldemort sniffed. “Unlike some people, she adores me.”   


  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Stop pouting.”

“Have you thought about…”

“My birthday isn’t for months.”

“But have you  _ thought about _ …”

Harry sighed and put down the quill he’d been using to scratch out their final terms. “I’ve been  _ thinking about _ how we’re going to  _ avoid a war _ . Maybe if we can sort that out, I’ll agree to…” he rubbed his suddenly-hot cheek. “You know.”   
  
Voldemort looked smug. “I don’t even have to ask, you know. When you’re seventeen, you’re going to want it, too. The spell requires a consummation when both parties are of age.”

“I know,” Harry said, long-suffering. “I’ve read the book.”

“Only because I found a copy for you,” Voldemort reminded him. “You should just trust me to take care of things.”

“I don’t trust you at all,” Harry said flatly. “Now, back to business.”

Voldemort sighed and leaned back over the scroll. “Yes, fine,” he said. “What about the Wizengamot? If I can’t disband it, can I merely…”

*

Hermione and Ron were finally, equally at a loss for words. The silence was almost more alarming than the shouting. Then Hermione finally sighed and said, “Okay, then.”

Harry sat up straighter. “Okay?” he echoed cautiously. “Do you mean…?”   
  
“I mean, okay,” she said tonelessly, and got up and stalked out of the tent.

Ron had sat up slowly in his chair, and was looking at Harry with flushed cheeks. “So,” he said.

“Yeah, so,” Harry said uneasily. “Do you hate me?”   
  
“Nah,” Ron said. “But would you, um, be willing to tell the rest?” He was definitely blushing. 

Harry found himself grinning in return. “What do you mean, ‘the rest’?” he asked innocently.

“The, um,” Ron ducked his head. “Well, you’re still properly married, right, so you must have…?”   
  
Harry looked at his best friend thoughtfully, but he also felt warmed by the opportunity to finally share what had been so monumental to his life for so many years, but which he’d had to keep a secret no matter how badly he’d wanted to share it.

“Yes,” Harry admitted, running his hands through his hair. “We, er, consummated it.”

When Ron looked expectant, Harry laughed incredulously.

“For Merlin’s sake, you pervert! I’m not going to tell you  _ that _ part!”


End file.
